Let the Story Tell Itself

A few years ago, while defending my doctoral dissertation, a committee member challenged me on a statement I made. Actually, he challenged most of my research, but his questioning bothered me most about my statement on the power of stories. I said something about stories having a life and power all their own, such that they'll tell themselves (so to speak). And, as tellers of stories, we need to get out of the way and let them unwind on their own, rather than forcing a conclusion.

It was a leap, I'll admit, but, intuitively, it felt right to say. Perhaps it goes back to Chinua Achebe's point that the story is always in control of the story teller.

"It is only the story...that saves our progeny from blundering like blind beggars into the spikes of the cactus fence.The story is our escort;without it,we are blind.Does the blind man own his escort?No,neither do we the story;rather,it is the story that owns us. " — Chinua Achebe (Anthills of the Savannah)

My point is, we believe too much in ourselves as the creators of story, so, at times, get so far ahead of it that we try to control the ending, the denoument. We do this because, by controlling the conclusion, we believe we are in control of the major events in our lives. We're all guilty of doing this, by trying to figure out how relationships will unfold, what kind of people our children will grow into, how our family members feel about us, what the future holds for us.

One of my favorites examples of this is the mythical character, Orpheus, who tried desperately to bring his wife and lover back from death. (Read a brief description of the story of Eurydice and Orpheus in the Encyclopedia Mythica Online http://www.pantheon.org/articles/e/eurydice.html

Orpheus

Orpheus missed his beloved Eurydice so much that he followed her to the underworld and, after charming the gods with his sweet voice and music, was granted the opportunity to bring her back to life. But, there was a condition. As they ascended from Hell, Orpeus was not to look back at his lover, a promise that he, in his desire to reconnect with his love, broke.

He turned and glanced over his shoulder, and his punishment was to lose her forever. Why, one wonders, did he do this? If he hadn't looked back, would the story have ended differently? Several poets have raised this question, including John Milton, W.H. Auden, H.D. and a contemporary poet, Jorie Graham.

See H.D.'s poem, "Eurydice" http://www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/poem.html?id=182485

Another poem that examines this is Jorie Graham's "Orpheus and Eurydice." http://www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/poem.html?id=176586

Back to the point. Why do we care why Orpheus, in spite of dire warnings, looked back? In my own opinion, Orpheus' plight or tragic loss resonates with us because we struggle with a need to predict the end of the stories of our lives.

Perhaps this is what this blogger is trying to achieve by writing--that is, to write something conclusive about life. Myabe I'll end this post without ending the story.